


Everything Fell Down

by artemis_fay



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Flashbacks, Reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:26:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24305890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artemis_fay/pseuds/artemis_fay
Summary: Arthur after Morgana is crowned queen in 3x12.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 8





	Everything Fell Down

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for checking out the story! This was so fun to write, so I hope you enjoy it.

Arthur should have known. 

From the moment Morgana glided into his life as a defiant, dark-haired girl she had been a captivating presence. She had been sure of herself, loud and angry, commanding the servants one moment and comforting them the next. She had always held Uther’s attention— Arthur could never forget the way his father smiled when she walked into a room and looked her straight in the eye when she spoke, clinging to every word that left her lips. 

It had always been that way, and for some reason, Arthur had never wondered why. Now, watching her seated on the throne, eyes cruel, hair somehow even blacker than it had been before, he wondered at his own stupidity. She was the spitting image of Uther, from her icy expression all the way down her rigid spine to the base of the throne. Except instead of magic users trembling at her feet there was Uther, weaker than Arthur had ever seen him, deteriorating under her merciless gaze. She had broken him. 

The question that burned furiously through his mind was simple: why? Morgana had never been mistreated; Uther had cared for her like the daughter she was. Even if she was angry with him surely the rest of Camelot didn’t deserve to suffer. Surely Arthur didn’t. And what about all the times she had fought for the innocent? What about the druid boy? What about Gwen’s father? The Morgana he knew cared far too much about others, was far too compassionate to do this. And yet, here she was.

Only a few moments after Morgana was crowned queen of Camelot Arthur felt Merlin seize his arm, attempting to haul him away. He knew he should follow, but he couldn’t move, his body felt like it was suspended underwater, like he was in a dream. A dream, Arthur thought with a sudden rush of relief. It had to be a dream. A nightmare, like the ones Morgana had so frequently complained about— and then the images started flashing through his mind. Morgana, arguing with Uther, eyes fiery as Arthur watched nervously, full of admiration he would never admit to. Morgana, exhausted, the energy slowly draining from her face as the sleepless nights crawled by. How something had been missing, even when she’d returned, something Arthur couldn’t quite place and did his best to ignore because at least she was back. At least she was home. Now he realized that ignoring the sensation was a mistake, a colossal mistake. What was happening in front of him may have been a nightmare, but it definitely wasn’t a dream. 

If Arthur had to pick the moment where he first noticed something was wrong, really wrong, it would have been when Guinevere was sentenced to death. He had expected Morgana to be on his side, at least, more firmly on his side than she seemed to be. She had protested, but Arthur couldn’t help but notice how different her voice sounded, how dull and empty, compared to the dauntless way she had once fought against Uther. When he thought about it too much he started to think that there was something else that poisoned her words, something that sounded almost mocking, almost haughty, something dirty and rotten lurking beneath the sugar-coated surface. But he brushed it away. She was just scared for Guinevere, he assured himself. She, like him, didn’t know what to do. But that wasn’t like Morgana. Morgana had always, always, known what to do. 

Merlin kept tugging at his arm. Now he was whispering something urgently, but Arthur couldn’t quite make out what it was, not with everything ringing through his ears and crowding his mind. Eventually he allowed his servant to lead him away, and stumbling through the castle corridors a powerful feeling began to surge through him. He was grateful. More grateful than he knew how to express, and he couldn’t find his voice anyway, so he allowed the gratitude to linger as they fled from the castle. 

Arthur couldn’t remember what meeting Morgana for the first time had been like. His memories from back then were blurred, missing parts, and when he closed his eyes he could see only simple pieces: a flash of dark hair, the clashing of wooden swords, crying after an argument. The one thing he did remember, crystal clear in his head, was how Uther had always favored her. Whenever they fought as children Arthur was always the one to blame, the one who was punished, the one who had to apologize.

As they reached the woods and Arthur staggered to his knees in front of an old tree he started remembering things that had been locked away for a long time. How a young Morgana, for a short period after she figured out that in Uther’s eyes she could do no wrong, had been— cruel. Almost vicious. In the usual way that children were, but it was cruelty no doubt. 

She would steal things from his room and watch Uther blame it on the servants, call him names and mutter insults that made Arthur want to cry, hit him when she knew he would never hit her back. When he told her stop she would smile in triumph, not unlike the way she had smiled in the throne room, and tell him that there was nothing he could do, that she had absolute power over him. She was right. 

Until one night she came running into his chambers, sobbing, muttering something about a dream where she had killed someone. Unsure of what to do, Arthur tried to comfort her, saying that it was just a dream, it wasn’t real, that she would never have to do anything of the sort. The moonlight shining through the window illuminated the paleness of her cheeks and the shadows under her eyes, making her face look haunted. Even though Arthur knew her dream couldn’t possibly be real, he was frightened. 

“You don’t understand,” she whispered. “He was real. He was in front of me. I don’t even think he did anything wrong—” 

Arthur put his hands on her shoulders in an effort to get her to stop talking. Whatever happened next, real or fake, he didn’t want to hear it. But, to his relief, Morgana seemed done talking about the dream.

“I’ve been horrible to you,” she said finally. “To— to everyone.” Arthur wasn’t sure what to say. To him, yes, she had been horrible, but she had treated the servants like anyone else. 

“I don’t know why I did it.” Her gaze was firmly focused out the window now, and Arthur got the sense that her words weren’t really directed at him. “I just wanted to be in control. I’ve never had so much control, ever—” She trailed off and started crying quietly again. After a few moments Arthur opened his mouth.

“It’s okay,” he said awkwardly. But then, just in case she took him too literally, he added: “Everyone makes mistakes.” 

“I’m going to make it up to you,” she said firmly. “To everyone.” Before Arthur had the chance to reply she was gone, having fluttered out of the room as quickly as she entered. That was the end of her first reign of terror, and Arthur had never dwelled on it too much. She was just a girl; she didn’t know what she was doing. Now, breathing heavily as Merlin tried to get him to keep walking, he finally realized that it wasn’t going to be her last. 

“How long?” They were the first words he had spoken. Merlin looked at him carefully, the unease apparent in his face. 

“I’m not sure what you mean.” Arthur shook his head. Merlin had known. His reaction had been too calm, too unsurprised. 

“Yes you do,” he said through gritted teeth. “How long since she betrayed us?” Arthur was now completely on the ground, and Merlin was looking down at him, something Arthur normally never would have allowed. 

“Since we rescued her,” Merlin said at last. He sunk to his knees so he was now level with Arthur. It was a small gesture, but Arthur appreciated it nonetheless. He had more questions, so many more questions, but there was no time now. For a moment— albeit a brief one— he considered giving up. Sitting here until Morgause’s men found him, allowing them to force him to kneel in front of his sister the way his father had. Maybe then, watching him stare up at her in disbelief, she would realize, like she had that night so many years ago, how wrong she was. How much Arthur cared about her. How much they all did. He almost did it, but then Merlin started to speak.

“We need you, Arthur.” 

Just four words. But they were enough to make him realize that this wasn’t about Morgana, this wasn’t about him, at least not anymore. This was about the people of Camelot. This was about Merlin, and Guinevere, and his father, and Gwaine, and Elyan, and so many other innocents that were depending on him. And he owed it to them to at least save himself now. 

When Merlin had been poisoned what felt like lifetimes ago it had been Morgana who finally convinced him to go rescue his servant. He could remember what she had said like it was yesterday. 

“What kind of king would Camelot want?” She was so self-assured, so confident she was right. The confidence that dripped from her words had been enough to persuade Arthur of what he had to do. Morgana was usually right, she had always been. But now he wasn’t so sure. Had he made the wrong decision? Was saving Merlin worth sacrificing himself? 

It was ironic, even almost funny, how much more complicated things now seemed. Between himself and others the choice had been easy: the duty of a king in the first place was to protect his people, to put them first. 

“What kind of king would Camelot want?” 

But as Merlin had said, now they needed him. They all needed him. Now, Morgana was gone, at least, the Morgana he knew was. She had been gone for a long time. Now, putting his people first meant saving himself. Closing his eyes, he forced the twisted image of Morgana on the throne from his mind. 

“I know,” he murmured at last in response to Merlin. “I know you do.” 

He allowed Merlin to pull him to his feet, and together, they ran for their lives. It may have been too late for Morgana, but it wasn’t too late for everyone else. It was so long ago that she had asked him that simple question, and now it seemed he was finally beginning to reach an answer. So he rescued himself, the pounding of his feet on the forest floor matching the heavy beating of his heart. He had a kingdom to save.


End file.
